Normal doesn't Suit Them
by LemonyZest
Summary: The one where Dean wants to kiss a cosmic entity, Cas wants to scream, Sam is just trying to fix everything and Lucifer thinks he deserves a kiss. (He does not) Currently Part 2 of 'Normalcy is Overrated', my fem!Sam verse. Covers season 10 finale into season 11 .


Dean's breath caught in his throat at the sight in front of him. His little sister down on her knees, shoulders hunched forward. Her long hair hung in front of her face in an echo of how her curls used to hide her face from view.

Dean blinked and he was looking at that ten year old girl from his childhood. Sam had been all wild curls and freckles, her youth obvious in the fullness of her cheeks and the innocence in her eyes.

The Sam in front of him was not the Sam of his childhood. She'd traded in her freckles for scars and her innocence for a look of defiance in the face of death.

Her left eye was swollen from their fight, and Dean's eyes kept falling to her split lip. Probably because he was avoiding her gaze.

Sam's shoulders were squared as she waited for him. There was no regret in her eyes.

She refused to apologize for trying to save her brother from becoming that thing he hated, something dark and rotten. Sam had been that thing before.

All the same, if this was his choice, she would accept it.

Death has not scared her in years. She's been ready, waiting. Living has become a chore, and living in a world without her brother doesn't appeal to her in the least.

Dean read the acceptance in her eyes. Sam was at peace with this. She was at peace with dying by his hand. Dean felt his stomach lurch at the thought.

He tried to swallow around the knot in his throat and choked on it instead.

The Mark seared hot and demanding against his skin in a terrible contrast to the smooth, frigid weight of the scythe in his hand. Power radiated from the Mark and Death's scythe alike, both demanding to be used. The Mark promised hi eternity while the scythe promised finality.

Death hovered behind him, ever patient. He was in no rush. He didn't need to be. All things died eventually.

Dean felt hyper aware of everything in the empty bar, from his own labored breathing to the fact that Death was not breathing at all.

Sam was still watching him, waiting for him. He couldn't meet her eyes.

Dean could not look his little sister in the eyes knowing what he was about to do to her. His fingers fidgeted along the length of the scythe. It was too heavy.

"Close your eyes."

He needed her to close her eyes. He needed her to not watch him as he broke every promise he'd ever made to her to protect her, keep her safe, watch out for his little sister.

"Sammy. Close your eyes." His voice broke over her name.

Dean's eyes finally found hers.

A tear slipped out of her eyes, and he watched its path down her cheek.

Sam did not close her eyes.

Sam shook herself before breaking eye contact.

Dean looked miserable, but she couldn't let herself feel guilty about that.

This was his choice.

Maybe there was still time to give him a way out of this darkness he'd chosen, though.

Sam reached into her jacket.

"Wait."

Her voice was weak, pliant.

Dean waited, though, and Sam pulled out the weathered photos of the family they might have had.

She puts them down on the wooden floor; faded, smiling faces up, towards Dean. She wouldn't be needing them anymore, and besides, they have always meant so much more to Dean. They were his memories, his lost childhood.

"Take these." She took a shuddering breath, tried to believe in her words. "One day, when you find your way back, let these be your guide. Let them remind you what it was to be good, what it was to love."

Sam offers a watery smile, it's the only smile she can give him.

Dean shook his head ever so slightly.

Sam had always had too much faith in him.

Dean wasn't that strong. He was weak.

Death took a step forward to lean into Dean's space, to whisper in his ear. "It is for family that you must proceed, Dean. To be what you are, to become what you have become, is a stain upon their memory."

The chill of Death's words sent a shiver through him, and Dean had to fight the urge to recoil. His eyes flickered over the faces of his family, abandoned in the space between himself and Sam.

"Do it, or I will."

The Mark demanded bloodshed, promised violence, and the scythe still weighed heavy and cold in his hand.

"Forgive me." Dean said.

Sam closed her eyes.

* * *

A/N: Okay so here is a part of my fem!Sam verse. This is obviously the season 9? finale. I'm just playing with their mindsets.

This is my second draft, the first is over on Ao3 for now, but I'll update both once I have my friend edit it. Anyhow, please comment. I thrive on comments!


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